


Year's End

by Esteliel



Category: Swordspoint - Kushner
Genre: M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no snow on Kyros on this Last Night, but it was cold nevertheless, so that he was grateful for the warmth of the fire, and of the thin, angular body in his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Year's End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Michelle Christian in the Yuletide 2006 Challenge

Summer on the Cycladian Islands was like the books had promised - best spent on one of the famous white beaches, or - even better - resting in the shade of an olive grove, with the scent of thyme in the air and the humming of bees all around them.

Yet once winter arrived, even beautiful Kyros, the island that truly was poetry come true as St. Vier now knew, succumbed to the inevitable darkness, to dark clouds, storms and days of rain. There was no more humming in the air, yet their house was fragrant with the thick bundles of dried thyme which their cook had hanging in the kitchen, and the larder was filled with large jugs of honey they had bought at the village's small marketplace. Already St. Vier was thinking about buying some bee colonies to produce their honey himself from the next year on, although Alec scoffed at his suggestions.

"There is money enough," he drawled, "for us to live like the kings of old - and I left Katherine enough to do the same. What reason is there to live with a cloud of angry bees hovering around us? Next you will suggest we buy sheep and olive trees!"

St. Vier only smiled, for the house Alec had bought did indeed include an olive grove, a kitchen garden and several small fields. Like the house itself, they all showed the signs of a few years of neglect, but St. Vier liked the way wild herbs grew all over the paths, and he half thought that these signs of neglect had called out to the romantic Alec liked to bury behind his cynicism, the same way he had once been drawn to the promise of death at the side of a swordsman, and the scandalous life as that swordsman's lover in Riverside, the part of the city where back then neither nobles nor the watch had dared to go.

Alec might scoff at it, but already their cook - a local woman from the village who came to their house to cook and clean every day - had set them up with her uncle who would sell them some of his lambs and kids come spring.

"They will keep the grass short at least," St. Vier said reasonably, although he knew that Alec was just arguing for the sake of an argument. There were no books as of yet, apart from the two tomes Alec had stuffed into his saddle bags, even though he had been fleeing the city in the night after the murder of the Crescent Chancellor. St. Vier hoped that there would be more books arriving soon, now that they had bought the small mansion overlooking the sea, with the white varnish crumbling from it's walls and the gardens overgrown with wild thyme.

Katherine would have loved to see it, St. Vier thought, thinking back to the days they had spent practicing swordplay on Alec's half-abandoned country estate. Yet Katherine was now the Duchess Tremontaine, every bit as eccentric as her uncle who everybody knew was a pervert, and who now was a murderer as well. Katherine would make her way, St. Vier was certain of that - she had, after all, been the only student he had ever taken. And hopefully, she would send books as well, now that they had an address to send it to, and Arthur Ghent's contacts to make sure that nobody found out.

"Don't tell me you would not rather have a lamb roast instead of Ana's mutton stew for a change," St. Vier continued. "One of her boys can look after the animals, they will be glad of a little bit more money in the house."

He smiled at the way Alec's clothes rustled when he moved, and he could almost see those narrow lips tightly pressed together, eyes dark and gleaming with frustration - the poor, angry University student he had shared his small Riverside apartment with, endlessly fascinated by death and searching out fight after fight for St. Vier.

"The Swordsman whose name was not death," St. Vier said and chuckled, remembering. "I wasn't in the end, was I? Not for you at least, for here we are, both still alive... And even though Ferris is dead, it wasn't my sword that did it. You never needed me to fight for you - in the end, you were strong enough to do it yourself."

"Don't be foolish!" Alec snapped. "Did Katherine read you that girls' novel? Or did you just have too much wine? It's foul stuff, you shouldn't touch it - I swear I will never understand why they insist on tainting it with resin when the rest of the world has been perfectly happy with oak barrels for centuries!"

St. Vier smiled patiently. "Come to bed, Alec... it's Last Night, and there are heated stones in our bed and a fire in our room, the way I know Ana."

"And a decanter of brandy on the table, I should hope," Alec added and got up, carelessly starting to strip on their way to the bedroom. St. Vier smiled again at the way Alec took care to not let the clothes fall directly on his path, although they still ended up crumbled on the floor.

He sighed once they slipped under the blankets. There was no snow on Kyros on this Last Night, but it was cold nevertheless, so that he was grateful for the warmth of the fire, and of the thin, angular body in his arms. It was not so different, was it? The small apartment in Riverside, warm only when he had earned enough to buy wood for the oven, black, shabby clothes strewn over the ground, his University student in his arms, thin and pale and angry, and so beautiful...

St. Vier moved so he rested on top of Alec, raising his hands to his face. He smoothed his fingertips over the thin, dark brows, down over Alec's lids, lashes tickling him. Then came the nose, narrow again, aristocratic, and the soft lips beneath that could be so hard and cruel, but they were not cruel now...

St. Vier bent to kiss Alec, tasting the ever-present thyme, the tart sweetness of wine, while his fingers continued their journey down. He explored Alec's chest, touching, _seeing_, calloused hands splayed wide to feel soft skin, hard ribs, Alec's nipples erect when he brushed his thumbs against them.

He caught Alec's groan in his mouth, allowing him to reverse their positions, and then it was how it should have been that last Year's End - no bitterness, no jealousy and anger, just a Swordsman and his ragged University student and the heat of their bed.


End file.
